Assume Makes an Ass out of You and Me
by flashwitch
Summary: Clint hasn't had a boyfriend or girlfriend in the whole time he's worked at SHIELD. Coulson assumes he's asexual and put's it out of his mind. Turns out, he's half right. Clint's Demi, but the last relationship he was in was with an abusive bastard, and he hasn't trusted or cared for anyone enough since then to have a sexual relationship with them. Get together fic.


**I've read a few fics (okay, several) which have an Asexual character and when character B finds out, they assume something terrible happened! Which it didn't, because that's not how orientation works. This is kind of a twist on that plot. I may write a fic on similar lines for the White Collar fandom...  
Unrelated to my other Avengers series.  
(Bear in mind it's half two in the morning here and I have a fever as I write this. I'm not sure how much sense it will make.)**

* * *

Barton's psychiatrist had approached him about it a couple of years ago now.

"The sex lives of your agents-"

"Are none of my business."

"With whom and how they have sex is actually very much your concern. It's a security risk."

"Barton doesn't date."

"No. He doesn't. He also doesn't have one night stands. As far as I can tell, he never has sex at all. It's not healthy."

"There is such a thing as asexuality." Coulson raised one eyebrow. He had the psychiatrist sent for mandatory sensitivity training and had Barton's care transferred to another shrink. The first one had been a little too voyeuristic for Phil's taste.

The point is, though, that Phil had put Clint in a box marked 'never ever open this, he doesn't wasn't you' and stopped thinking about it. He had to stop thinking about it. He had to label Clint as 'chronically unavailable' because otherwise he'd drive himself mad. Because he'd been in lust with Clint for going on eight years. And he'd been in love with him for two.

All of which made the present situation difficult to understand. True, Barton was high. But it was Coulson's understanding that the drugs currently coursing their way through Barton's veins lowered inhibitions and revealed inner desires, not that they made you do something you weren't interested. And the hard on pressing against his leg certainly felt interested.

"Barton-!" a mouth against his stopped him briefly. He pushed. "Barton, listen to me. You need to stop. You don't want to do this."

Clint backed off, panting, his pupils the size of dimes.

"Sorry, sorry, sir. I know you don't..." he shook his head. "Sorry. Not myself."

"I know. It's alright. Come and sit down. We have a long wait for the extraction."

"No, sir. I'll sit over here. I can't... not with you right there." He back up till he hit the opposite wall and slid down till he was sitting on the floor. He leaned his head forward to rest on his bent knees and let out a small groan. Coulson assumed it was in embarrassment, but better safe than sorry...

"Barton, talk to me."

"Sorry, sir. I know you don't- I mean, it just seemed like a good idea. Not sure why."

"What, kissing me? I thought you didn't do that sort of thing?" Clint's head whipped up and he stared at Phil.

"You thought _I _didn't...? What do you mean?"

"You haven't had a partner since you began working at SHIELD ten years ago. There's some speculation about one night stands, but I always thought you were asexual. It fits with the way you always flirt and never follow through." The corner of Coulson's mouth turned up and Clint grinned back, wide and open.

"Okay, first of all, flirting is fun." Clint stared at him. "Secondly, really? You thought I was Ace? That's surprisingly well adjusted of you."

"I just seemed to fit with the information at hand."

"Well, no. I'm not Ace. I'm... I usually identify as Demi. That means I have to have an emotional attachment to be attracted."

"I know what it means!" Coulson had come across the term in his research on Clint's assumed orientation and it had given him a brief spark of hope before he pushed it down. "Usually identify?"

"Yeah. I don't really fit in just one box. I'm bisexual, demisexual, biromantic, pansexual... I have a whole shelf of boxes I fit in. Like me and Tash, we don't have sex, but we sleep together in the same bed a lot and our relationship is much deeper than just being friends." The words were just spilling out of his mouth and Coulson knows he should stop it, should do something, but he _needs_ to hear this, and Clint could hate him later if he wants. "We're in- I bet I say this wrong, I haven't even thought the word since I was trying to figure out what I am- we're in a 'hetero-romantic' relationship. I rub her feet for her; cook her dinner. She rubs my shoulders, treats my wounds and we spoon at night. But we don't have sex. In fact, I'm pretty sure that Natasha's gay. But she's still figuring that part of herself out. She didn't exactly have the time when she was a kid. Oh shit, please sir, shut me up. She's going to kill me."

"Easy, Barton. What happens in Canada, stays in Canada."

Clint snorted, and Coulson smiled back.

"As for me and sex... it's been a while, sure. But it's been a while since I found someone I had that connection to. And it didn't end well."

"No?" Clint ducked his head, and looked away. "Okay. I won't ask you anymore."

"Thanks."

It was cold, a breeze slipping in through the gaps in the walls. Coulson stood up and walked over to the fireplace. He soon had a good blaze going. He also grabbed a blanket from the sofa and dropped it down over Clint's shoulders. He leaned down.

"Clint, I need to check your pulse." Clint held out his wrist, and looked up with a wry smile. Coulson frowned; Barton's pupils were still dilated.

"I'm glad I'm stuck with you. I trust you. You won't tell anyone. And you're nice. Nice to me. I don't know why, but you've always been nice to me."

"Hey, come on. You should try and sleep. Let's get you to the sofa."

He pulled Clint to his feet and half carried him across towards the living room end of the large open plan room. They'd done this sort of thing for each other dozens, if not hundreds of times. Clint had never nuzzled his neck before. He'd never groped Phil's ass before either.

Phil put Clint on the sofa and covered him with the blanket and then went over to the kitchen end of the cabin to try and get back under control. This was... it was like taking a diabetic kid into a sweet shop and saying 'you're cured! Eat what you like!' It wasn't fair. He'd been so good at putting his feelings for Clint to one side, locking them away. And now, what? Clint was compromised. He didn't know what he was saying. Coulson was going to have to pretend that all of this never happened.

He swallowed hard and pretended it didn't matter.

* * *

Clint woke out with the mother of all hangovers to the sound of pans being banged around angrily in the kitchen end of the cabin.

Wait... cabin? The last thing he remembered... oh shit. The last thing he remembered he was tied to a chair, being injected with... something.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and then held very still, trying to figure out what had happened next. He was on the sofa, with a blanket. Good. He was in a log cabin that he didn't recognise. Bad. There was a roaring fire, so he wouldn't freeze to death. Good. He didn't know who had started the fire. Bad.

"Barton, stop pretending to sleep and come and help me with breakfast." Coulson. That was Coulson's voice. And that was apparently all Clint's brain needed to give him the events of last night in a crazy slideshow.

"Aw, crap. Sorry sir." He dragged himself up, wobbling slightly, and pulling the blanket closer.

"It's fine, you're upright now. You can set the table."

"No. I meant... sorry I groped you?"

"That's..." Coulson faltered. He blinked. He paused. What the hell? "That's fine. What happens in Canada, stays in Canada, remember? Besides, you were compromised. If anyone should be apologising, it's me. I took advantage of you."

"What? My memories of last night are pretty sketchy, but I'm pretty sure I'd remember that."

He put knives, forks and juice glasses on the table. The smell of bacon and pancakes was heavy in the air.

"When you first kissed me. I should have pushed you away. I knew you'd been drugged. I let it go on too long before I stopped it. And I let you tell me your secrets."

"I would tell you my secrets right now if it wasn't so awkward. I trust you, sir. I thought you knew that. And it was me who pushed you up against the wall and started making out with you."

"You were drugged."

"Yeah, but you were pushed against the wall and made out with. Forgive yourself for being human."

Coulson blew out a long breath and loaded up their plates, before coming to sit at the table.

"You're right."

"Of course I am." Clint poured maple syrup liberally over his whole breakfast. "I'm sorry too, for what it's worth. I'd never kiss you sober." Phil's heart broke a little, but he didn't let it show. He just took a bite of bacon. Clint continued. "I know you're not interested in my like that."

"You're not interested in me either." Phil wasn't sure where that had come from and he sipped his coffee and avoided eye contact.

"Wait, what? It was sodium pentothal, not rohypnol. Phil, I've wanted to be with you for two years. I probably would have wanted you before then if I'd let myself think about it. As Doc Lacy says, I have some issues."

"I'm sorry? Did you just say...?"

"Yes. Yes, I did. I've been in love with you for two years. I tried flirting, but I'm not very good at it. You never seemed to notice, or you just blew it off."

"You flirt with everyone! Besides, I thought you were asexual. I figured if you wanted a relationship, it would be without sex and you wouldn't approach someone seriously by saying 'hey, Coulson, that suit makes your ass look awesome'!"

"Yeah," Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "I can see how that might be misleading."

"You think?" Coulson shook his head and took a deep breath. He was letting his emotions run away with him. He needed to calm down. Clint seemed to realise this and backed off, eating his breakfast quickly and messily, in contrast to Phil's precise bites.

"When's pick up?" Clint asked after a long moment of silence. Phil laughed.

"You haven't looked outside yet, have you? We're in the middle of a blizzard. They won't be able to get a copter up here until it's died down. And then they'll probably have to dig us out."

"Well, at least we've got food. And firewood."

"Yeah. Food, sure. The firewood... it's a limited supply. We can ration it, and it should just about last us. And we've got the stove, that's gas powered."

"We'll survive. But the key question is this: is there wifi?" Phil laughed, and Clint grinned, pleased to have gotten a reaction.

"No, I'm afraid not. No wifi. No TV. Barely any electricity, there's a generator in the basement. And there's only one bed."

"The sofa's comfortable enough. As long as it stays relatively warm in here."

"Yeah. Let's hope the snow blows over quickly."

* * *

The snow doesn't blow over quickly.

* * *

It doesn't blow over quickly at all.

* * *

"In fact, you might say its progress is...*puts on sunglasses*... glacial...Yeeeeeeaaaaaahhhh."

"Barton, what even...? That was the worst pun I've ever heard."

"It's supposed to be. That's the joke. CSI Miami."

"I've never watched it. I tend not to watch anything with an actual plot. I don't have the time or the energy to follow one for more than a few episodes. It's better to watch something where I won't get invested in the characters and where it doesn't matter if I miss a few weeks due to the end of the world."

"Ah, that explains it. You don't watch _Supernanny_ by choice, it's just what you _can_ watch."

"Hey, I don't just watch _Supernanny_! I watch _Say yes to the dress, Cupcake Wars, Pawn Stars..._" He trailed off, as Clint laughed.

"Just tell me you don't watch Honey Boo Boo, sir!"

"No, I don't watch that." They were sitting on the couch, facing the fire. Their shoulders were pressed together and they had the blanket wrapped around them. It was still cold, but not unpleasantly so. There was a pack of cards, a chess set and a Sudoku book on the coffee table, but so far they hadn't been bored enough to try any of those out. Coulson was afraid that if he picked up the Sudoku, he'd find it half filled in.

Clint's laughter faded to a gentle smile, and silence fell. It didn't feel awkward exactly, but it did feel tense, expectant.

"When you say you've been in love with me for two years..."

"Yes."

"You meant it?"

"Yes."

"Good." Coulson cleared his throat. Emotions were hard. "I've had feeling for you for slightly longer. But I'd put them in a box labelled 'don't touch', because I thought I knew how you felt and I didn't want to be someone who made you uncomfortable."

"I appreciate that. Really I do." He tried to smile, but the expression got lost somewhere between his brain and his face. " Like I said, I've had some bad experiences."

"Tell me?"

"Yeah. if you want. I trust you." Phil wasn't sure which of them Clint was reminding. "I... my last boyfriend was before SHIELD. He was a guy who I knew, kind of. It was after the circus, when I was going solo." Phil made an understanding noise in his throat. He knew that Clint's experience at the circus was hardly ideal, but he'd thought the years between circus and SHIELD were as close to freedom as Clint had ever had. "His name was David. He was a thief. But then, so was I. And I shot people for money too. So that didn't matter. He was funny and clever, and he had time for me. Not many people did. He paid attention. I think I fell in love with him the first time he laughed at my jokes." Phil pressed closer against Clint's side, reminding him he was there. "It was okay at first. But I guess what they say is true. That if you come from an abusive home, you'll end up in an abusive relationship. He would drink too much and he'd hit me."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say that. People always say that. I don't want pity. And you shouldn't be sorry for something you couldn't stop." Clint scowled. "I should have known better. I should have left him." he took a deep breath. "Being Demi, I'm not as interested in sex as I could be. And I have to feel it before I get... you know. I have to have feeeeelings," he drew the word out in a sing song voice, mocking, "before I can fuck. He thought that because I wasn't always ready when he wanted me, he thought I'd been sleeping around. He called me... it doesn't matter. I don't know why I put up with it as long as I did. I let him smack me around and call me names, all because he laughed at my jokes." He shook his head.

"I love you," Phil said. "I hadn't said it, and that isn't fair. You're doing all the talking. I love you and I'm sorry that happened to you. But he was an idiot. If he couldn't see how amazing you are, then he wasn't worth it."

"I... you don't have to say it just because I did."

"I wanted to say it. I'm not... I'm not good with feelings. I've been told that being in a relationship with me requires a decoder ring. But I can say it now, even if I can't always say it in future. I love you."

"I love you too."

"I'd very much like to kiss you now."

"I'd very much like that."

Coulson leaned in and pressed his lips to Clint's. The kiss was dry, almost chaste, but the emotions behind it were so strong, they were overwhelming. Both men pulled back quickly. Phil smiled wryly and Clint laughed.

"Come here," he said, and pulled Phil towards him. This time there was the press of tongues and hands roaming and it felt so good after so long.

* * *

When the storm finally blew over, and the chopper arrived, it was to find the two of them wrapped in each other and the blankets in the bed. They were fully (well, mostly) clothed, and surrounded by playing cards. They'd talked a lot, about expectations, about SHIELD regulations, about their feelings. They'd kissed a lot too, but it didn't go further than some over the clothes touching. They were being careful. It felt good though. It felt right. It was a start.


End file.
